The Writing of my Place in History
Living in towns is depressing.
You wake up at the same time in the morning, wear plain boring clothes, go to the same office or class, or job hunt – the whole day. Then you sit in traffic for endless hours, or in a bar or cafe depending on who you are, to waiting for traffic to reduce, get home, eat, sleep… Repeat.
Boring life, depressing life.… Continue Reading
Due to public demand, let’s continue from where we left. About the great city of Gitura. Well, it’s a village, but there is a Pastor who came to preach in a crusade at Gitura Primary School and he told God to bless the ‘City of Gitura’ … I was proud of my city my village that day , and as you know, what God has blessed no one can put asunder.… Continue Reading
The other day I was told of a women group on Facebook rivalling Kilimani Mums… it’s called Vuteni Stool. When a woman says, “vuta stool nikuambie”, know it’s going to be a hot story.
I’m not a woman, not even remotely with this smug face of mine, but vuta stool I tell you about my village. It’s one of the best, most comic places you will ever find.… Continue Reading
The other day, I attended a workshop for Real Men.
That’s right, I was browsing the internet and came across an upcoming event for real men. The posting even taunted me – if you are a real man, sign up. I signed up, because I don’t like people doubting my manliness. It was like those Gitura sayings of Kama wewe ni mwanaume umetahiri nikate…And then you cut the person up and face the consequences because nothing is worse than having your manliness doubted.… Continue Reading
On a certain night last month, I was playing hide and seek with Calla at JKIA to start the longest flight of my flying life. About 26 hours’ journey (of course with the 2 layovers). Destination: the United States of America, specifically Denver, Colorado.
This was the result of a 2 month torturous preparation, getting the US Visa in the confusing times of the Kenya e-Passport.… Continue Reading
It’s a fine Sunday evening and I’m walking to Plot 10 from seeing my one of my hunnies at UoN Hall 5. We’ve been there since we left church and so, it’s been a romantic day – I am walking on clouds with a bounce… and a sweet feeling on my lips, of course. I’m even thinking about the future already, when I will break my virginity and stop kulaing kwa macho.… Continue Reading
Is there an award for the person who spends the most time in the toilet? I deserve that award – I’ve realized I spend insane amounts of time in that little room.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s because I have seen the toilet as an adult. You see, in Gitura where I grew up, the thought of shitting inside the house was unimaginable. Why would anyone want to do that unless they are in a police cell or too sick to move?… Continue Reading
Where did we leave it last time? Oh, I was getting high high in the sky on my very first flight. So, lets complete the flight and the landing, will we?
Now, every time I ever took a whisky, even my bowels used to stagger – I have to use the loo at the ,”earliest opportunity. This was no exception… adding on the different things I had eaten for the first time.… Continue Reading
We had gotten ourselves a business trip to India, Julie and I, for an e-Commerce and Customer Loyalty conference…
To travel, you need passports. Which we don’t have and the notice period was three weeks. The queues at Nyayo house are long and torturing. And when I get to the front of the queue they reject my birth certificate because it looks “like it was tampered with.”… Continue Reading
I am a rapper. At heart, everywhere. And now, it’s time to roga you musically. How do I know that? That I am a super MCee, super lyric buster? I just know… I know my talents and rapping is one of them.
This rap mojo started when I was in high school. In Form 2, to be specific. My Gitura ushamba was slowly wearing off and I was making up for lost time.… Continue Reading
I have seen a few monos in the streets this week. You can tell a mono from a mile away, you can smell even a mono. You can see it in the clothes, brand new, with ridiculously sharp iron lines, blindingly shone shoes, crudely knitted names on the sweaters, shirts and sometimes, even pants. And the faces, the faces betray monoism, frightened eyes, wildly chewing jaws, bouncing steps (fake confidence).… Continue Reading
I am who I am largely because of my teachers. I am even writing this blog, in part, because I don’t want to let my teachers down. They all thought I was going to be a journalist, or editor of some sort, because, English and Swahili were my bread and butter. Oddly, all teachers, both in Primary school and High school; even teachers who never taught me but knew me… They all advised me to be a journalist.